Reintegration
by gymnastics-lover
Summary: Separated from the others, Quatre lives with the Sims family in the government's effort to reintegrate him and the others into society. It isn't working out as well as the social workers had hoped. 3x4.
1. Chapter 1

Reintegration: Chapter 1

Quatre was tired, so very tired. His whole body felt heavy and his consciousness rested on the very brink of a dark chasm. Sleep. He wanted it, needed it. He felt himself sinking into the murky depths, his thoughts coming ever more slowly. Sounds blurred around him as he let his exhaustion take over. Tug tug. His brow crinkled in irritation as an insistent stimuli wrestled with his sinking consciousness, bringing him closer to the surface. He would ignore it. Tug tug. Sounds came into sharp focus and he resignedly opened his eyes. Soulful brown eyes stared back into his own and he started, throwing the little girl off his chest and gasping in shock. Standing bolt upright he scanned the room for threats. Calmness crept back to him as he took in the familiarity of his surroundings: The old brown couch he was sitting on, the television in the corner, the window staring into the backyard and a clear autumn day… And a scared little girl. As the unexpected adrenaline rush wore off his hands shook and his chest heaved. He managed a shaky smile for his four year old foster sister.

"Are you okay, Jessie?" Jessie's lower lip trembled, and she stuck her thumb in her mouth, speaking around it.

" 'm sorry, Carter." She gulped a few times, silent tears running down her face and into her long, curly brown hair.

Quatre sighed and knelt down, picking her up. She wrapped her little arms around his neck and clung there for a while.

"Shh sweetie, don't cry. You're a brave girl, remember? You know better than to startle me like that. Don't you remember what Mommy and Daddy said?"

"I f-forgot Carter. I'm sorry. Please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad, Jessie. How could I stay mad at you?" And he threw the girl into the air a couple of times, always catching her before she hit the ground. Her soft hiccupping turned into squeals of laughter.

"Eeeeek! Carter! Carter stop!"

Obligingly, Quatre put her down and wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks.

"There's that beautiful smile I love to see! Now what did you want before I got all grouchy?"

The little girl's eyes lit up again and she raced over to the corner where she had put her glove and ball.

"Will you play catch with me?"

Quatre forced a smile. His exhaustion would have to wait.

"Sure."

That night, Quatre excused himself from dinner early. He headed up the stairs to where he shared a room with his foster brother, Jadyn. Being Carter Sims was exhausting. He lay down on his bed, atop the covers and fully clothed. This was his thinking time. The late evening was the only time he had to himself. It was the only time when he could think about what had been, what he had lost. He had lost everything, really, right down to his name. After the war, there had been a huge political movement towards the rehabilitation of former soldiers. The five of them had made no efforts to conceal their roles in the war, preferring to meet the consequences of their actions head on, like honourable men. That's how Wufei had said it, anyway.

The authorities hadn't known what to do with them. There had been a huge outcry in the media about them for a while. Some had said they should be executed for war crimes. Others had said they were heroes. Most people, however, had agreed on one thing: that the soldier's mindset required to be a gundam pilot was dangerous to the new peace-loving society. The gundam pilots were a threat to the safety of the public. And so there had been a few court appearances, many, many interviews with psychologists, and house arrest in the Preventers' headquarters until such time as a decision could be made. The pilots hadn't really minded this. They still had each other, and they all knew it would be a long time before their reflexes and war-time habits could be calmed. So they rested with each other for 4 months, strengthening bonds of friendship and love formed in the dire circumstances of the war. But on the 4th of April, AC 196, that all changed.

The first indication that there was anything wrong was a cryptic e-mail from Relena to Heero. At 9:10 am, the pilots gathered around Heero's laptop, searching for hidden messages in the e-mail. There were none. Relena's image came onscreen for all of 10 seconds, then vanished with only these words:

"I tried. I'm so sorry." A tear ran down her cheek and her image disappeared.

A few minutes later, the pilots opened the door to a grim-faced Lady Une and two other people, a man and a woman. They gathered around the kitchen table and awaited the news. Both the woman and the man cleared their throats and glared at Lady Une, indicating that she should begin. Instead, Commander Une glared back just as fiercely, saying

"I refuse to inform them of this decision. I do not support it. You will have to tell them yourselves."

The woman adjusted her spectacles, shifting uncomfortably and brushing her long blonde hair out of her face. She cleared her throat and the man beside her started the explanation.

"We have decided on a policy of total reintegration."

He looked around impressively after he had said this, but only blank stares greeted her. A cold feeling settled in Quatre's stomach.

"No disrespect or anything," Duo said in a tone that belied his words, "but who are you and what does that mean?"

"My name is John Buckley and this is Ann Watkins, but you can call us John and Ann."

Ann smiled and her eyes crinkled in the way that eyes do when a person has smiled a lot in life. This might have put them at ease, but there was an unspoken tension in her mouth, as though she knew she would be delivering unwelcome news. She spoke slowly and deliberately, as though carefully choosing her words.

"It has been decided that the only thing to do is to let you all start over again. This will mean new homes, new friends, and even new names." Duo gasped here but remained silent, allowing her to continue her explanation.

"All of you will be placed into foster care with different families. Hopefully, you'll learn what's it's like to be part of a real family. You won't be expected to do this without help; you'll all be provided with a therapist to help you adjust to not being soldiers anymore. Your therapist will be the only one who will know of your past. Your foster families will be told nothing of your participation in the war. They will only know that you fought as child soldiers."

The pilots sat in shock.

"W-what if we don't want this?" Quatre asked in a small voice. "What if we've already found a real family?" As he said this, Quatre looked around at his friends. His gaze finally came to rest on Trowa. He reached over and squeezed his lover's hand. Trowa squeezed back.

The other pilots silently voiced their agreement with Quatre. Duo placed on arm around Heero who was sitting on his left, and Wufei who was on his right. The five of them drew each other closer, protectively.

John sighed, rubbing his temples.

"That's the hard part. The court has decided that it would be best if the five of you were kept separate. Recovery is a long road, and you might hold each other back. You will be placed with families on different colonies."

"What? No! You can't do that! Look, we're good at hiding. You wouldn't have found us if we didn't want to be found. We can easily melt into the shadows again. This is insane!" Duo-Boys don't cry- Maxwell seemed to be on the edge of tears. He stood, appealing to his family, the boys, no, men beside him to stand with him. They all stood, but Wufei, voice resigned, broke in.

"We fought long and hard for this peace. We lost many of the people we cared about, and many people we didn't even know. We were fighting for freedom, so that the people could choose their own government, free of tyrants and militant groups. We were fighting to stop the oppression of the people in the colonies. Now the oppression has stopped, and the people have chosen their government. We are not above the law. It would be an insult to all that we have achieved, and it would mean dishonor to all the people who died, if we did not abide by this government's decisions."

Heero nodded in agreement, and Quatre spoke up.

"We have made huge sacrifices so that a people's government could make decisions. Now the people are asking for one more sacrifice, and we are honour-bound to give it." He turned to Duo, and wiped away the tear that was trickling down his cheek.

"We will always be family. No matter where we are. It doesn't matter. One day, we'll find each other again."

That last night had been the hardest. He and Trowa had made love until the early hours of the morning. Then they had gone down to the common room, where, to their surprise, the other three were already drinking coffee. Nobody said anything. There wasn't anything to say.

Quatre had been with the Sims now, as Carter, for 4 months. He missed the others more with every passing day, especially Trowa. He had just started at school, in grade 12. It was frustrating, because he found himself way ahead of the other students in most subjects, but far behind in others. He heard Mark and Elana, his foster parents, coming up the stairs. They paused outside of his room, murmuring. They were worried about him, Quatre knew that, but he just couldn't find the energy to reassure them right then. He felt badly about it, but sometimes he felt so disconnected from them. Just as Ann had promised, they knew next to nothing about his former life. He hoped they would leave him be for tonight.

"Carter?" Elana's voice came through the door. No such luck. He sighed.

"Yes?" She opened the door, and she and Mark came in. They sat across from him on Jadyn's bed.

"Carter, we're worried about you. You haven't been eating much lately, and you seem almost... lifeless."

"Don't be so dramatic, Elana," Mark interjected, "You just don't seem very happy."

Quatre gritted his teeth. It was time for the lies.

"Everything's fine, Elana." He smiled sweetly to punctuate his comments. "I've just been feeling a little under the weather lately. A bug's been going around school." He did his best to look pale and sick, which wasn't too difficult.

"Oh, you poor dear! Why didn't you say so?"

She fluffed his pillows unnecessarily.

"You just get undressed and I'll bring you a nice warm cup of tea." She and Mark left the room.

Quatre groaned quietly. He hated lying to her, but he couldn't tell her what was really going on. The truth was that he was missing Trowa so badly that it hurt, and he didn't know how much longer he could go on living a lie in the name of peace. He got undressed and climbed into bed. Looking at Jadyn's clock, he saw that it was only 8:30. Oh well, he thought, I can have an early night tonight. His exhaustion washed over him and his eyes slipped shut.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

Quatre found himself being shaken roughly awake at 07:00 hours. He suppressed the instinct to disable the person when he met Jayden's street-tough gaze. Jayden said nothing, but left the room as soon as he was certain Quatre was awake. He was only thirteen, but his eyes were haunted like those of a worn-out old cop. From what Quatre knew, he'd been abandoned to the streets at the age of two, and from the age of 8 had been bounced from foster home to foster home. Nobody wanted jaded 8 year olds, Quatre thought with a bitter smile. No. That wasn't right. Nobody wanted them, except for the Sims. Jayden had been living here for the past two years, and was not taking Quatre's intrusion to his safe-haven lightly.

Quatre dragged himself out of bed and pulled on his faded blue jeans. They had been a present from Duo, not long before they'd all been sent to different homes. Duo had said he needed to relax more. At the time, Quatre had laughed and put them away, trying to think of ways to dispose of them without offending Duo. Now though, they were a comfort; a physical reminder that his best friend was out there and cared. He wore them everyday.

The stairs creaked as he went down them, and Quatre winced at the sound. He was supposed to be rehabilitating; learning how to live in peace time. The only thing he had learned in the past 4 months was that old habits died hard, and old war habits died harder. He'd been surviving everyday by pretending he was on an undercover mission, but it was getting harder and harder. Even under deep cover, he could have sent out communication somehow. It would have been necessary.

"Carter!"

The little blur that was his foster sister launched itself at him. She'd taken to his presence in their little family right away. He guessed she was looking for people she could feel attached to. Her parents were killed in the crossfire of an Oz and Alliance battle six months ago. Jayden was still too openly unstable to be Jessie's rock. But children were resilient, and Jessie's open joy at life was a healing balm to Quatre's soul. Picking her up, he headed over to the kitchen table, where toast and eggs were waiting for him. Mark and Elana were looking back and forth between themselves and Quatre. Guilt tore at his heart. His foster parents were trying so hard to make this work. It wasn't their fault he was miserable. He would have to make a better effort to stay in character.

"How did you sleep, Carter?"

"Very well, thank you Elana." Quatre smiled at the end of his sentence, and his foster mother grabbed the olive branch and held on for dear life. Crossing the room in two strides, she held a hand to his forehead and began to fuss.

"Do you feel any better?" Quatre opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't get a word in edgewise.

"Would you like some tea? Can I get you anything, sweetie?"

Quatre swallowed hard as the world faded away for a moment.

* * *

"Can I get you anything, sweetie?"

8 year old Quatre was wrapped in blankets and propped up with pillows. There was a large, hand-shaped bruise on his face, and his sister Iria was hovering over him worriedly.

"Quatre, you know Papa loves you, right?"

Little Quatre didn't exactly respond to the question.

"I… I feel him sometimes, Iria. It's scary when he drinks that stuff. He's so sad. _So sad. _He misses her so very much, and he's _so angry."_

"Quatre, Papa lets his sadness for your Mama get in the way. You look so much like her. I want you to promise me you won't go near him anymore when he's been drinking."

"I can't do that, Iria."

"Why not?!"

"When he's angry with me, I'm sure that he can't be angry with you."

"Oh Quat! You don't need to worry about me. I'm your big sister. I'm supposed to protect _you._ I love you, Quatre. Don't you ever forget it. Promise me?"

"'kay."

* * *

"Carter!? Are you alright?"

Quatre gulped a breath of air as he was wrenched back into this world. He stood abruptly and almost passed out as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Muttering that he would be back after school, he grabbed his books, shoved them into his backpack, and ran into the rainy morning. He ran all the way to the bus stop, where he leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. Another wave of dizziness hit him, and he was forced to sit down. He squeezed his eyes shut. Don't think, don't think. It was useless. Iria was dead, and after the war, his remaining sisters had disowned him. He was alone, except for…

"Jayden?"

The figure kept walking towards Quatre.

"Why are you here? You don't take this bus."

Jayden's voice was low and gruff when he answered, too low and too gruff.

"You forgot your ID card."

Oh, right. Public transportation was free on the condition that you presented a valid ID card. He took the card from his foster brother, but didn't glance at it. He couldn't bear to see his picture next to the name Carter Sims. Shaking his head to clear it, he looked back at Jayden, who looked like he might say something more.

"Look, man. Don't think I don't know this foster shit is tough. I know I was a pain in the ass when I first got here too. But Mark and Elana? They're my people. I protect my people, and you're hurting them. I'll let you off with a warning for now."

Jayden flashed a six inch switch blade he had sewn into his jacket: the one Quatre had known about for most of the four months he had been staying here. Jayden didn't pose any serious threat. He acted tough, but inside, Quatre knew he was a scared and hurt little boy, who only wanted to be sure his little family was safe. Jayden was hurting enough as it was, and Quatre was only complicating his life. So he resisted the urge to laugh bitterly and instead nodded seriously.

"I understand."

Jayden nodded and put the blade away. He smirked cockily.

"I thought you might say that. I'll see you after school."

Quatre watched Jayden's back dully as he walked away in the direction of his own bus stop. Jayden went to a different school than Quatre. He'd been in trouble with the law more than once, and the authorities felt it prudent to keep him under their watch at a special school for JDs. Sneering at the irony of their situations, Quatre got on the bus to his own normal high school for normal kids.

Quatre's first class of the day was band. Ordinarily, that would have made him smile, but now even the music was losing its ability to soothe Quatre's aching mind. Mr. Falk, the music teacher, was losing patience with him. When he'd first come to the school, he had been able to write poetry with his strings. Now, the music was locked somewhere inside of him, and he couldn't remember where he'd put the key. But he picked up his violin nonetheless. He hoped the feeling of the strings under his fingers would transport him back to a time when a flute used to sing with him. Then he wouldn't hurt anymore.

"Good job Quatre, that's coming along."

Quatre smiled ruefully and looked at his sectional partner.

"That was awful, Harmony, and you know it."

"Okay, so maybe it isn't close to how well you normally play it, but it wasn't as bad as last time!"

She was desperately trying to keep both of their spirits up. The music tests were scheduled soon, and with Quatre as her partner, she probably wouldn't get a great mark. Still, she was cheerful, and never let Quatre know of her frustration. Quatre appreciated her efforts.

"I'll get it together for the test, Harmony. I'm sorry it's taking so long."

"I understand, Carter. You miss him very much, don't you?"

"W-what? Who?"

"The boy you used to play music with."

Quatre stared at her, open-mouthed.

"H-how? How did you know?"

"You're not the only empath in the world, Carter. If you'd been paying more attention, you would have noticed me."

Feeling violated, Quatre interrupted hotly,

"You probed my emotions?!"

But Harmony was calm, and she responded a little sadly,

"Carter, I didn't have to. You're projecting so loudly any empath within a 100 foot radius would feel it."

"I'm projecting?'

"Yes, you are. You're probably subconsciously hoping he'll hear you calling."

Quatre let out the breath he'd been holding. Yes, that made sense: Trowa had heard him before.

"You're right. Thanks for telling me."

"You're welcome." There was a slight pause. "Carter?"

"Yes?"

"I have an idea about your playing, but I want you to forget I said anything if you can't do it, okay?"

"… alright. Go ahead."

"I want us to go through the piece one more time. This time, however, I want you to think of him. Play for him, if you like."

"Think of him?"

"Yes, dedicate the piece to him. That is, unless it's too painful."

"No. I-I guess we could try that."

He could think of Trowa while he played. Maybe, if he felt hard enough, Trowa would feel him, wherever he was. It was the only chance at communication they had.

Grasping his bow unsteadily, he began to play. He closed his eyes, a crystal clear image of Trowa in his head: the way he tilted his head a little bit sideways while he played, the way his brow crinkled a little when he was playing high notes, but most of all, the way he looked at Quatre through hooded eyes as he harmonized. Quatre didn't even notice when Harmony joined in. Around him, the other students stopped playing and turned to stare at Quatre and Harmony. The room was deathly still except for the two students in the corner, riveting the whole class. Beads of sweat ran down Quatre's forehead as the music came to a staggering crescendo. He could almost hear where Trowa would come in with his flute. When the last note sounded, Quatre stood perfectly still for one, long second. Then his knees buckled.

Elsewhere, Trowa clutched his heart and gasped.

* * *

Heero was exhausted. He'd been sent to four different foster homes in the four months since the separation. They'd all sited his violent behaviour as the reason they could no longer have him their homes. Now he was sitting on an uninviting white couch, waiting for his fifth and hopefully final family to come and pick him up from the social services centre on L1.He'd tried to convince the social workers that he would never fit into the system; that he was a danger to other people. Of course, they wouldn't listen to him, and they'd simply gone about trying to find him another home. But only four hours ago…

Heero awoke with a strangled grunt to find he was standing, pressed up against the wall with his an oz soldier pinned between him and the wall. He'd broken both of the man's wrists. Someone was screaming in the background. Looking wildly around for the source of the noise, he fixed his eyes in horror on his foster mother. Matilda was sobbing so hard it was difficult to make out what she was saying. Heero blinked. He was glad to have protected her. Turning to the man in his grasp to knock him unconscious, he gasped in shock. His foster father's terrified visage stared back at him. Suddenly he could make out Matilda's words. She was pleading with him.

"Hikaru! Please, please, please. Stop it Hikaru. What did we do wrong? Let him go! Let him go!"

Heero released his foster father and his own knees buckled. Philip, he thought dimly. He'd almost knocked him unconscious.

"I'm sorry."

Philip had run to the other side of the room as fast as his feet could take him. He was clutching his left wrist in agony. It was badly broken. Heero made to get up. He had to see how badly Philip was hurt. Matilda screamed again.

"Stay back! Don't hurt him again!"

"I-I didn't mean to. Please believe me. I'd never—"

But Matilda and Philip were no longer there and the door was locked from the outside. Heero slid back down the wall, hugging his knees.

Two bleary-eyed social workers had arrived less than an hour later, telling him to pack up his things. He'd wanted to apologize… to see if Philip would be alright, but the social workers ushered him out the door before he could say anything. The last thing he saw before he left forever was Matilda and Philip, hugging each other and crying.

He never wanted that to happen again. From now on, he would handcuff himself to the bed at night. It would be better for him to get hurt because he couldn't defend himself than for him to hurt another innocent. _Never again._

Heero saw couple in their early thirties arrive at the door. They conferred with the social workers for a few minutes, and then they were brought through the sliding glass doors to Heero.

"This is Hikaru Kasamatsu. If you find each other agreeable, he'll be your foster son. I'll leave you to get acquainted."

With that, Ann, the social worker walked out the door and left Heero to fend for himself. He resisted the urge to pull his knees up to his chest as he surveyed the two. They were fairly young, as foster parents went. But something was wrong. The woman seemed to be struggling not to cry. Surely he wasn't _that_ frightening! Was he? Heero crossed his arms over his chest defensively, and took stock of his body. Shocked, he realized that his arm muscles were bulging threateningly, and that he was coiled up, every muscle tense, even sitting down. Suddenly, he felt too tired to deal with this. He was lost; he had been since the day he was born. This time, he didn't resist the urge to pull his legs up to his chest. He rested his head on his knees and swallowed hard. A distant part of his mind was screaming at him not to show any vulnerability, not to leave himself open to attack. He crushed the thought. It was that way of thinking that had caused him to hurt Philip.

"I'm sorry."

The woman grabbed a kleenex and dabbed at her eyes. She had long brown hair and was dressed casually, in jeans and a T-shirt.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Heero said gruffly, slightly puzzled.

"Yes there is! I should be more welcoming. Instead, I'm sitting here blubbering—"

The man spoke up.

"Carla, honey, shh…" He wrapped an arm around her back and soothed.

"My name's James, and this is Carla." He took a deep breath, as though readying himself to say something he would rather not have disclosed.

"Carla and I have been trying to have children for a couple of years." There was a slightly pregnant pause before he continued. "Last year, we got pregnant, but our baby died while he was being born. His name was going to be Joshua…" James stopped to collect himself. "We've been told we can't have anymore children, so we decided to open our home to children who might want parents just as much as we want them."

There was an uncomfortable silence after that. James was pouring his and Carla's hearts out, but Heero was miserable and tired and he just _didn't know what was expected of him._ Thankfully, Carla began to talk again, saving Heero from a half-hearted response.

"I-It's just that we thought you'd be a bit younger."

Oh… Oh. It made sense now; the way they'd been disappointed as soon as they'd seen him. He hadn't scared them. He just hadn't been little enough. God he wished… he wished Trowa had left him to die by himself at New Edwards. Nobody had ever wanted him. Nobody ever would. He was a toy, something people were interested in for a while, but eventually threw away without a second thought. A strangled sound halfway between a bitter laugh and a chocked sob tore its way from his throat.

"I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. Believe me, I wish I was ten years younger too."

If only… If only someone had picked him up when he was six or seven and taken him away from all this. He wished he'd been in this position back when he had been young enough to change.

"Oh Hikaru! We didn't mean that!"

"We _were_ shocked when we first got here, but Ann explained why she'd called us over and when we'd heard your story, we decided we couldn't say no."

"Why?"

James and Carla exchanged a look.

"Carla and I grew up in a mercenary troop. We know first hand what it's like to be a child soldier. We want you to come home with us."

Heero's brow constricted as he thought this over. He could barely believe what he was hearing. If what they were saying was true, James and Carla would know a lot more about what to expect from him than Matilda and Philip had known. Maybe they would understand. He took a deep breath and asked the most important question.

"You… want me?"

"Yes, we do," they both answered earnestly.

Heero stood up, looked both of them in the eye, and said:

"I will do my best to be a satisfactory son."

James barely kept himself from wincing at his foster son's flat tone. The boy had a lot of healing to do.

"You will be, Hikaru. You will be."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

"Trowa!"

Catherine burst through the door and threw her arms around him.

"Oh thank God you're okay, Trowa! When Mrs. Cohen called to tell me you had passed out in the middle of class… I came as fast as I could!"

Awkwardly holding his trembling sister in his arms, Trowa led Catherine into the sitting room. He sat her down on the couch, and returned momentarily with tea.

"You didn't have to come, Cathy."

"Of course I did! It's hard enough, not knowing how you're doing, only being allowed to see you once every two Sundays. I never know if you need me! God knows it wouldn't kill you to call once in a while! Then I got that call from Mrs. Cohen last night, and I just had to see you for myself."

Catherine finished her tirade, breathing hard. These last months had bitterly difficult for both her and Trowa. Her petitions for legal guardianship had been denied, even when Trowa was identified positively as Catherine's blood relative. Catherine's living circumstances were deemed unstable; her job as a circus performer had not helped her case, and Trowa could not bring himself to ask her to leave her home. Trowa's social workers, Ann and John, were of the opinion that Catherine was too needy and placed a heavy burden on Trowa's emotional state (the biggest piece of crap Trowa had ever heard) and thus they had restricted her visitation privileges as much as they could for a blood relation, knowing Catherine was too poor to take them to court.

"I'm alright, Catherine, I promise."

"Trowa, if you were alright, you wouldn't have fainted. Have you seen a doctor?"

There was a pause as Trowa debated how much to tell her.

"Cathy, there's nothing wrong… with _me_." Worry and guilt tore at his heart, and Trowa dropped his head into his hands, leaning forward on the old brown couch. Catherine moved closer, slowly placing one hand on each of Trowa's shoulders, trying not to make sudden movements. In a soft tone she reserved for sick animals, she asked,

"What's wrong, Trowa?"

"It's Quatre, Cathy. He's hurting and I can't stop it."

Catherine pursed her lips. It had taken her a long time to forgive Quatre for placing Trowa in such danger, but eventually, his charm had won her over. Catherine may have been a simple girl, but she wasn't at all slow, and she quickly recognized the happiness Quatre had brought her little brother. Growing up in the circus had left her open to the possible metaphysical aspects of the world, and though she was skeptical at times, she could accept Quatre's gift more readily than most.

"Does it feel at all like last time?"

Last time… when Trowa had lost all his memories, and Quatre's insistent empathic call had dragged him back out onto the battleground.

"Sort of… but it's different somehow. It was less urgent this time, but more emotional in nature. When I lost my memories, it was a constant call, tugging at the edge of my consciousness. Yesterday, though, I felt a burst of emotions, briefly and intensely, and then it was gone, and I woke up on the floor of a classroom."

/Alone/ Trowa thought but did not add.

"I don't know what to tell you, Trowa… It would be almost impossible to find him."

Unable to respond, Trowa just looked at his sister, his eyes expressing the misery his words could not.

"You'd better go, Cathy. Mrs. Cohen will be home from work soon."

Catherine nodded. She rose and headed for the door, Trowa trailing behind her. Brother and sister embraced, before going their separate ways.

"Trowa, just promise me you won't do anything rash."

"If you hurry, you'll make it back in time for the night show."

"Trowa!"

"See you on Sunday, Cathy."

* * *

"Man! This sucks!"

Duo resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the boy's comment. In his easy way he had made a lot of superficial friends in the last few months. He guessed his so-called friend -what was his name, Roy, maybe?- didn't appreciate the AP calculus class they were both in. Ch. Whatever. The truth was, Duo didn't mind the learning. Never having had formal education before, he was soaking up the attention his teachers were giving him and was learning more than he had learned in a long time. Since he had learned to pilot Deathscythe, actually. He was doing well too. Who would have thought? Duo Maxwell: fearsome soldier, pilot of Deathscythe hell, ace pilot… ace student? But here he was, taking advanced Calculus and English Literature in the same day, loved by teachers and students alike. Ch. Whatever.

He played the role of the popular, easy-going new kid far too well; he was getting starting t o get sick of himself. He had everything and nothing; everyone and no one. He had a family, he had friends, he had a school, he had sports, he had good grades, and he was miserable. Not that anyone could tell, he thought bitterly. Duo Maxwell was nothing if he wasn't an actor. So instead of telling the boy –Roy?- where to shove it, Duo turned around, an expression only the four closest to him could have identified on his face.

"Yeah, man. Let's blow this place and go play some hoop!"

Duo Maxwell was back to playing the fool.

* * *

"What the HELL?"

Startled by Wufei's outburst, the two boys jumped, and a picture frame crashed to the floor.

"W-Wufei!" The older one began, "We didn't know you were going to be home so soon."

"The hell you didn't!"

Shaking with anger, Wufei gently picked up the broken picture frame, rescuing the picture of himself and Meiran on their spring wedding day, now ripped halfway down the middle. Two serene faces smiled back at him as the happy couple basked in the afternoon sun. In the background stood Wufei's legal guardian and older brother, Chang Shen-Ling and Meiran's grandfather, Master Long, who were watching the proceedings with an anxious air. Unbeknownst to anyone in the picture and only caught by the camera, Wufei's three year old niece and nephew were sneaking up behind the bride and groom. It was the only truly perfect moment Wufei could recall. Tenderly, he swept the broken glass out of the frame, tracing the outline of Meiran in his arms, as though he could reassure himself of her safety. Brow furrowing, he set the photograph back down, and, remembering his ire, turned to his miscreant foster brothers.

"Get. Out."

"W-wufei?" the younger boy, Nicholas, had backed up a few steps, but neither had left the room.

"Get out right now!" Wufei yelled, his voice breaking pathetically as he choked out the words.

"Maybe we can fix it,"

14 year old Sacha's trembling tone was too much for Wufei, and he picked both boys up by the scruff of their necks and flung them out the door, slamming it for good measure. There was a scrambling sound, and then Wufei was sure he was alone. Breathing hard, he stumbled backwards, clutching the broken frame to his heart. His knees buckled as they hit the bed, and he toppled backwards.

When Chang Wufei had moved in with the Clemences, he had asked only two things:

a private space somewhere in the house

complete silence between the hours of 5 and 7 am.

He really hadn't thought it would be difficult for the family to grant him those two simple requests. In return, he had promised to cook for himself, clean for himself, be a generally unimposing presence in their home, and give up half his salary to the family each month. However, in order for him to do this, he had been required to get a job. That hadn't been too difficult. He'd developed an almost instant rapport with the librarian at the public library near his school. Working five shifts per week at the library, he sorted and catalogued books and articles. He'd faithfully upheld his part of the contract.

Collecting himself, Wufei crossed his legs and concentrated on relaxing himself. One muscle at a time, he calmed his body, and with it, his mind. He was ready to inspect the damage. There were only four items of any importance in the top drawer of his bedside table, but he would be devastated to lose any one of them. Everything precious about his life was contained within the four objects. The first, of course, was his wedding picture. He had forgotten to put it back in the safe last night, and he had paid the price for his foolishness. Grimly, he wondered if it could be restored. He knew the other three items must still be undamaged: Nicholas and Sacha could not have opened the safe. Nonetheless, he felt compelled to check. He opened the drawer with great trepidation and removed the safe. Carefully turning the dials, he entered the combination. 4311005. The lock slid open. Wufei breathed a sigh of relief. The items were safe and untouched. Carefully, so carefully, he drew out the first: a velvet box containing a pair of rings. One, gold with a ruby gem, the other, also gold but with a sapphire stone. Both were proudly emblazoned with the Dragon clan family crest. The ruby was his own, but the sapphire had belonged to Meiran. She had entrusted it to his safe-keeping shortly before her death. Wufei had considered having it buried with her, but in the end had chosen to guard it himself. It was all he had left of her.

Next he pulled out another framed photograph, this one of himself and the other pilots. It was taken during one of their days off at the Preventers HQ. The five of them were standing under a tree out by the training grounds near the obstacle course. Their arms were slung casually about each other as they watched a group of new recruits attempting the course. The picture had been snapped just as the whole lot of them had scaled the fence and jumped, only to be taken by surprise as they landed in a moat. Duo was grinning maniacally, Heero was grimacing, Quatre was hiding his face, Trowa was outright laughing, and as for himself, he was looking on in stern disapproval. It was Sally who had taken the picture. After inspecting it, he placed it back in the safe with utmost care, unable or unwilling to acknowledge the emptiness that suddenly threatened to drown him.

At last, he pulled out two laminated letters. The first one was dated August 14th, AC 194, while the second was issued only two weeks later. The scrawl was practically illegible, but Wufei had learned to decipher it long ago.

Dear 'Fei,

I'm so, so sorry I was unable to say goodbye before I left. Our company was called up unexpectedly to join with the L5 resistance. A large offensive is being planned. I cannot tell you where or when, for fear of this letter falling into the wrong hands. Still, what I can tell you is that I have never felt such hope. Tomorrow, I will be on reconnaissance duty. There have been some rumors of a planned Alliance attack on our home colony. Please stay vigilant, Wufei! I will do all that I can to find out more, but I am counting on you, little brother, to keep our people safe.

Please do not be too angry with me for leaving. Though our numbers are not great, and our forces may even be counted as weak, we are strong in our purpose. I will not let the Alliance hurt my family or my colony any longer. I am taking up the fight so that you will not have to. You must keep the poetry alive in your heart, my scholar brother. If you do not, then none of this, no matter the victory or the defeat, will have been worth it.

I must go now, Wufei. I have used up half the flashlight batteries and there are others who also wish to write home. Send my love to my wife and children.

Love,

Chang Shen-Ling

The second note legible, but far more difficult to read.

ADDRESEE: Chang, Wufei

Mr. Chang,

I regret to inform you that your brother, Chang Shen-Ling, has been missing in action, presumed dead, since an offensive strike on August 28th, AC 194. His sacrifice will be honoured.

Yours sincerely,

Major Yu Ya-Chun

Commanding Officer

D company

L5 resistance

With shaking hands, Wufei replaced both letters in the safe. He locked it and shut the drawer.

Poetry… it had been a long time since he had thought of it. Forever and a day was how long it was since poetry had been his main concern. And yet, intellectually, he knew it was only a little less than three years since Chang Shen-Ling had joined the L5 resistance, and Meiran's passionate speeches on justice and war had begun to hit home. All his fourteen years he had been trained as a warrior, a role selected for him by his parents at birth. When they died shortly after in a shuttle crash, his and Shen-Ling's training was taken over by Master Long. Though Shen-Ling was five years older, it was immediately apparent that Wufei was more physically suited to the warrior ways. He mastered his katas quickly, became an excellent swordsman, and his piloting talents were unmatched. But Wufei had resisted the idea, preferring to delve into ancient Chinese poetry, lore and history, a habit which infuriated the elders and was encouraged only by his brother.

"If this were a time of peace," Master Long would say, "then it would be my honour, indeed my duty to charge you to learn the scholarly ways. But we are preparing for war, and you are our brightest hope."

"Wufei!"

Shaken out of his memories, Wufei sat, stunned, for a moment.

"Wufei come down here right now!" the voice of his foster father boomed from downstairs. Wufei hastened to obey.

The whole family was clustered in the living room downstairs. His two shaken foster brothers were seated between their mother and father on the family's stately grey couch. Steeling himself, Wufei made his entrance.

"Yes?"

"Sit," Mr. Clemence commanded, gesturing to one of the two red chairs which were positioned across from the couch, with a coffee table in the middle for separation.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Mr. Clemence was a bear of a man and his muscles bulged threateningly as he held up one of each of his sons' arms.

Wufei winced as he took in the hand-print shaped bruises circling the two skinny arms. He'd gripped a little harder than he'd thought when he'd thrown them out of his room.

Sasha, the oldest, blanched and wrenched his arm out of his father's grip.

"It's _fine_, Dad."

"It most certainly is _not _fine," the man yelled.

"Jed," his wife reached over and patted him on the arm, "calm down, honey. You aren't helping anything by yelling."

The man visibly calmed himself before going on. Even so, his tone was clipped as he continued.

"I would like to know," he began, "why my sons have hand-shaped bruises on their arms."

Sighing inwardly, Wufei reminded himself that he was in this man's home and took a deep breath.

"I lost my temper when I found your sons in my room. You will recall that you signed a contract saying I would have a private space in the house. They had damaged a photograph… quite by accident I'm sure. Still, I was unable to control myself. For that I am sorry and will accept any consequence."

Clipped and controlled. Wufei congratulated himself on not revealing anything potentially compromising to his foster parents.

"Is this true?" Jedidiah Clemence asked his sons.

"Yes, Papa," answered 11 year old Nicholas. Turning to Wufei, the little boy said,

"I'm sorry we broke the picture. Your lady is very pretty."

A bitter-sweet smile tore it's way across Wufei's face at Nicholas' sincerity.

"Thank you. Yes, she was."

His foster parents looked at each other for a long moment, clearly wondering whether they should ask questions. Mrs. Clemence opened her mouth once or twice, but thought better of whatever she was going to say. Finally, she decided on this:

"Wufei. If I _ever_ find out you've laid a hand on either of my sons in anger again, I'm afraid you will no longer be able to call this house your home."

Wufei waited for a few minutes to see if that was all, and then nodded in acknowledgement.

"You may rest assured, madam, that I have never, nor will I ever, call this house my home."

Wondering if that comment had sounded ungrateful, Wufei decided that he just didn't care. He shut the door to his room and sat down on his bed.

Lost in a lifetime of memories, Wufei buried his head in his arms and wept. He wept for the loss of his colony, his wife, and his brother. But most of all, he wept for the loss of his poetry.

* * *

Heero winced as he treated the bruises and lacerations on his wrists. This was the fourth pair of handcuffs he had broken as he slept, but at least he hadn't hurt anyone else. John and Carla had been very good to him.

"Heero! Breakfast is ready."

"Coming!" Quickly, he finished washing the cuts, and grabbed his backpack from where it was sitting at the foot of his bed. As he trudged down the stairs, the smell of freshly buttered toast and scrambled eggs greeted him good morning.

"Have a seat, Heero. Your breakfast is on the table," came Carla's voice from where she was still in the kitchen, cooking.

Silently, Heero took his place beside John at the table. He wasn't used to eating such rich food in the morning. It had been a luxury he could almost never afford.

"Sure makes a nice change from ration bars, doesn't it?"

Heero barely restrained his gasp of shock as John guessed nearly exactly what he'd been thinking. Gruffly, he managed a response.

"Yes. Carla's a good cook."

He had been very lucky to get John and Carla as his foster parents. They had been nothing but kind so far, and though he was having trouble showing it, he was starting to let himself relax in their home. It really helped that both of them had had prior experiences as soldiers. They knew when he could talk and when he just had to be left alone. Most of all, they were careful not to catch him unawares.

"Heero! You're going to miss the bus."

As he bolted for the door, Heero thought to himself that even though he missed his fellow pilots, maybe, just maybe, he could get used to having a family. He hoped the others were having a similar experience.


End file.
